My Experiences With Socialized Medicine Part III

After seeing the Head Doctor, I was ushered down to the Heart Trauma Ward within a matter of hours.
Again, it was the same set-up. A big room with 6 curtained 'private rooms' within. I was taken to the one remaining unoccupied bed. I had been wheeled down in a gurney with a non-English speaking Sister, so I wasn't able to ascertain where I was going, or why.
By this point, I hadn't been in contact with any of my family or friends in the US. I was so totally unprepared for this kind of event that I didn't have any pocket change with me to use with the pay phone.
Which, I was soon to discover, was like something out of the early 1900's. It was crazy. They wheeled it over to your bed, a great big wooden monstrosity that seemed as heavy as lead. But, it worked, and through the effort of my new roommates, God bless them, I was able to call my father in America.
Of course, there was really nothing that he or anyone could do for me, but I felt better knowing that someone knew where I was, at least.
I found out after talking to the other women that I was indeed in the Heart Trauma Ward, and that the Doctors would be coming around pretty soon so not to worry, I'd find out what was going on.

The first time I went to use the restroom in this new ward, I hadn't realized that it was actually a Co-Ed bathroom, and that guess what? The doors wouldn't lock! It was a struggle to get in there with an IV pole and all, but I did finally accomplish my 'goal' so to speak, when the stall door swung open and I was literally exposed for all to see. The old guy who had opened the door, just stood there staring. I screamed for him to shut the f-ing door and he scurried off.
All of this and I haven't even mentioned how filthy everything was.
That bathroom was like something you'd find in a gas station, for crying out loud.
I was in that Welsh Hospital for another 3 days. In the end, I had to actually check myself out by refusing any more treatment. I was informed that, by doing so, I would no longer be welcome at that Hospital - even in the case of an Emergency.
A few months later, I'm wandering around the City Centre, doing my shopping, etc. and I run into one of the Jr. Doctors that treated me in the Hospital. He actually went out his way to apologize to me for the awful treatment that I had received there.
As you can imagine, I do not have a very complimentary view of Socialized Medicine. Partly, but not only, because of my experience in that Welsh Hospital.

My Experiences With Socialized Medicine - Part II

I never did see the doctor that day. I was weak, it was difficult enough to even eat, let alone ask questions. I finally slept.
One thing I can tell you about living on a ward at a Hospital is that you get to know your 'roommates' quite intimately, very early on. As you can imagine, the Cancer Ward in particular can be quite a wake up call as to how violently our own bodies can betray us. My experience was the stuff of nightmares. Screaming in the night, terrible odors, as you may well imagine, one woman actually passed away while I was there. I can't tell you what that feels like. I never really slept while I was in that Ward. I was terrified of not waking up!

I was on my third day in this place, with no more information, no more awareness than I had come in with. I felt trapped in a kind of Kafka novel. It was like a bad dream. I was stuck here, unable to move, unable to tell my loved ones where I was and what was happening. I had no control over my own treatment. Hell, I didn't even know what the treatment was! I asked questions, of every Sister I saw. I raised hell...
I was getting desperate.
First and foremost, why was I on the Cancer Ward? I vaguely recalled having my shirt taken off and a chest X-Ray (or two) being performed. (Where was my shirt, come to think of it?) Did they find something in that X-Ray that could possibly land me here?

I think it was the 3rd or 4th day that I got to have a bath. It was the only bathtub on the ward, but boy, it was a good one! It even had a jacuzzi feature, which was useless to me, as I could hardly breathe enough to get in the damn thing. I was left alone to fend for myself with an IV in my hand, attached to a pole with wheels. I had never felt so exhausted as I did after that bath. Literally gasping for breath, I managed to bathe and dry myself and then stagger back to my bed. Phew!
It was either that day or the next that I got to finally see the Doctor.
Well, actually, not the 'Doctor' but the Assistant to the Doctor.
But, OK.
I know that I'm a citizen here, but...I'm REALLY an American, ya know? I have an American accent. And so, I demand better treatment! I have questions! What is happening? Why am I on the Cancer Ward? What am I being treated for, specifically? What medications am I being given?
The women in the ward with me seemed shocked at the questions I asked of the Assistant to the Doctor. As did the Assistant, himself. But why? I had a right to know what my treatment entailed. I was mystified...
The Doctor did come see me not long after that.
When he walked into the room, I knew exactly who he was. He went from bed to bed, reading each ladies' charts, telling the two Assistants by his side what he thought of each case, until he came to me.
He actually paused when he read my chart. "What are you doing here?", he asked.
"I don't know", I replied, "care to tell me"?
He performed a few tests on me, instructed his assistants to perform Spirometry tests on me at midnight, 4am, 6am and then throughout the day. I was also moved to a different ward. It turned out that my bed was needed for someone actually undergoing the battle of cancer.
I left, with relief.
Turns out, I was headed for the 'Heart Trauma Ward' Oh, goodie!

My Experiences With Socialized Medicine

I moved to Tre'ddol, Wales, UK in 2001. To be exact, I left America on September 18, 2001. Just 7 days after 9/11.
Before the terrorist attack, I was excited to leave the US and start a new adventure. While I had never lived in Wales before, I had spent many years in England, both studying at University and apprenticing in a hotel kitchen.
I was born in England, and so, warts and all, I was able to live there as a citizen - work as a citizen, pay taxes as a citizen, etc. I was looking forward to it!
About 3 weeks after my arrival, I got sick. I mean, really sick.
I have Asthma, so something as simple as a cold can easily develop into a serious situation. This time a had the flu. And not a flu strain that I had been in contact with before, so I was even more unprepared. It threw me for a loop. I really believe that I came close to death that evening, and if someone hadn't checked on me that night, I probably would have fallen asleep. Perhaps forever. Thank God they did!
But I digress.
When it was apparent to the person checking up on me that I could not talk, let alone walk for want of breath, I was scooped up and delivered to the nearest hospital.
I was immediately ushered into a curtained 'room' and given oxygen. I sat there for hours sucking that oxygen down. I was checked up on periodically, to see if it was working enough to send me home. It wasn't working. I needed more treatment.
And that's when I got checked into the Hospital itself.
I was 25 years old, in a foreign country where I hardly knew a soul, and I couldn't get in touch with any of my friends or family in the US. I don't mind telling you that I was terrified.
Turns out I had good reason.
The Hospital officials weren't sure where to put me since I was so young, and they had a very limited amount of beds available. I ended up in the Cancer Ward.
I kid you not!
Meanwhile, I am told nothing. I was brought up to the ward, placed in a bed, hooked up to an IV, O2 monitor, heart monitor, the works. It's the middle of the night, everything is dimmly lit and I have to speak in whispers.
I asked questions of the 'sisters' (nurses): what kind of medication are you giving me? Why am I being admitted? When will I see a doctor? I was given non-answers.
Meanwhile, I'm the new arrival in the ward. I'm in large room with 5 other women.
Since it was the middle of the night, everyone was asleep. It was eerie.
I didn't sleep at all that night. I had never been admitted to a hospital for anything before in my life. In fact, the only other hospital experience I had was of seeing my mother in the ICU after a car accident. Obviously, the association was not a good one.
At 6 am everyone started to wake up. A new crew of Sisters were bustling around, there was medicine to be given, tests to take, blood to draw.
I'm thinking, cool. Maybe now I can find out about what's going on here.
I ask a Sister who takes my temperature, blood pressure, etc. when can I see someone who will tell me what is going on? Apparently, the Doctor will come around 2 pm.
I am asked to fill out a form giving a choice of breakfast, lunch and dinner items.
Do I like tea or coffee? Tea of course, white. With sugar.
Pretty soon, I start getting questions from the other ladies in the Ward.
I find out they are here for cancer treatment. Have you ever seen someone go through a battle with cancer? It's not pretty. I had recently seen my grandmother go through it, and a there was woman in the ward obviously at the very end stage of the disease.
I immediately started getting paranoid. Was there something the doctors knew that I didn't?
Where's the pay phone, anyway?